


Her Timeless Truth

by gigi2690



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:59:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi2690/pseuds/gigi2690
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of the Premiere: Myka comes across H.G. in the alternate timeline where Paracelsus has taken control of the Warehouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Timeless Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not copy or duplicate on other sites or mediums without my consent.

Myka muttered aloud as she ran down the halls, counting off room numbers as she ducked around security cameras. She was quickly creating a map of this new Warehouse in her mind, and if these rooms were ordered at all like the aisles in their Warehouse, she was close to where H.G. Wells’ time machine would be stored.

As she came to the right room she pulled open the door…and froze. She was right; the time machine sat in the corner of the room, but Myka hardly noticed it. Apparently this wasn’t just where all of H.G. Wells’ inventions were stored. The woman was bent over a lab table, back to the door but there was no mistaking those long shining locks or the somersaulting firecrackers in Myka’s stomach.

"Helena." It was a sigh; it was a prayer; it was hope and pain and it was completely out of her ability to hold back.

H.G. spun around, her unbuttoned lab coat swaying as she narrowed her eyes on Myka, “You,” the elation at that recognition swelled within Myka, “you’re one of the intruders.” 

"No Helena I-" What could she say? Helena’s eyes were filled with interest and suspicion, but holding none of that weight that had always threatened to buckle them both. Not the mischievous twinkle that meant breaking rules and saving the day; not the fear and longing that begged Myka to show Helena that  _she was her truth_. She never realized how much was there until it was gone. It was like Emily Lake all over again.

The devastation was like none Myka had ever known, no that’s not true, it was all too familiar. Apparently a feeling that only Helena could incite in her, whether through intentional actions or the cruelty of altered timelines. It was sandpaper across her every nerve. It was hard to breathe. This Helena was watching her with greedy interest even as she reached for something on the lab table behind her. The pain was such that- despite her duty to save the warehouse, despite everyone counting on her- Myka was almost grateful for the burst of electricity that pulled her into unconsciousness.

_... (Originally split into two chapters but I'm putting them together) ..._

Myka felt her, before the cold tile at her back, before the telling weakness of her limbs; Helena eclipsed it all. Her throat was dry as she struggled to clear it, “I’m surprised.” Her eyes slowly blinked open, settling where Helena stood a few feet away. She was leaning against the steel lab table at her back, “I must have been out for a while, why hasn’t anyone stormed in yet?”

The corner of Helena’s mouth twitched, or perhaps Myka imagined it, “The cameras don’t work,” she bristled slightly, mistaking the pride on Myka’s face for censure, “I’ve disabled them more times than I care to count. Eventually Paracelsus decided my skills were worth the risk of an unsupervised workspace.”

Myka used the wall behind her to drag herself into a sitting position. Her body was plagued with small aftershocks, but there were far more pressing matters. “How can you be okay with this?” she gestured at the white walls, the hollow sanitized air. It was not unlike a hospital, a setting to which Myka had become far too familiar in recent weeks and one Helena- _her_ Helena-had always abhorred.  “You’re testing artifacts on people, torturing them.”

Her question was left unanswered. Helena twirled the tesla in her hands as she scrutinized Myka’s features, dissecting her with that cunning intelligence that had birthed a new genre of literature, which had nearly sent the world spiraling into another ice age…in another time.

“We’ve met haven’t we? Not here,” she gestured vaguely as she stood up, slinking a little closer, intrigue overpowering caution, “But in your timeline.”

The surprise must have registered on her face because Helena laughed; it was a beautiful sound and so familiar, paradoxically light and cynical. Myka drank in her expression, she looked tired, deep shadows beneath her eyes; it seemed that hardship followed Helena in every reality.

“How do you think a Victorian agent ended up in this century? And I am not the only one plucked out of their time. Paracelsus is playing god and we are all his chess pieces. And then of course there is the manner in which you look at me.” Something flickered behind Helena’s eyes but Myka could not catch it.

 “How do I look at you?” Helena’s pupils dilated in reaction to the quiet earnestness of her voice. She moved to crouch down in front of her, the tesla limp in her grasp as she greedily drank in every emotion warring for primacy on Myka’s face.

“Back in my time I became quite accustomed to the look of infatuation- tiresome in its dramatics as it may be- it is ultimately an exceedingly shallow condition.” Helena’s free hand reached out as if to touch Myka’s face, only to falter and clutch the locket around her throat instead, “What is your name?”

“Myka Bering.”

Helena smiled, “Well  _Myka_ ,” Myka’s eyelids fluttered at the familiar caress of her name. It had been too long since she’d heard it with Helena’s particular cadence. Helena noticed, her smile turning rueful, “There’s nothing shallow about the way you look at me.” 

Myka forced herself to remember why she was here, “The Warehouse is meant to be a force of good, of endless wonder. You say you’re one of Paracelsus’s chess pieces, and yet, you break the cameras. You use a tesla even though it’s been made abundantly clear Paracelsus has no reservations with using lethal force. You’re right; I  _do_  know you. And I know you cannot be okay with this. You fight back. You change the rules.”

If Myka didn’t know any better she would have said Helena was blushing. It was frustratingly charming how Helena’s eyes darted away as if overwhelmed by the vehemence of Myka’s plea. “Yes well,” Helena’s eyes didn’t stay away for long, drawn quickly back to Myka’s, “Unfortunately my reputation preceded me. Paracelsus has taken steps to ensure my cooperation.”

 “Christina.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but she knew immediately, in some ways had known all along, nothing but Helena’s daughter could move her to such extremes.

A dark storm crossed Helena’s face. At once the softness and smiles were gone, replaced with lightning fury and a hand against Myka’s throat. She choked, her tesla weakened attempts to throw her off easily ignored as Helena leaned in close enough share the same air… if, that is, Myka was capable of drawing breath. “Paracelsus has told me wretched things,” her voice was low, cold and dangerous as a steel blade, “They plague my thoughts and dreams. Tell me now Myka Bering,”

The grip around her neck tightened and Myka’s vision began to swim, “Tell me they are lies. Tell me my Christina was not murdered in your time. Tell me this beautiful woman before me,” her tone turned almost mocking, but Myka could hear the pain lacing the words, “with such compassion in her eyes, tell me she’s not asking me to surrender all that I am to nothingness and a world where my daughter never even had a chance.”

The tears streaming down her cheeks had nothing to do with the grip around her throat or the way her vision was spotted with black. She shook her head. Even if she were able to speak, Myka knew she could not lie to her. And like that, the hand was gone. When Myka’s desperate pants evened out and her sight returned, Helena was back to standing by the lab table. She wasn’t looking at Myka; the tesla was abandoned by Myka’s side. She could make to reach for it, knock Helena out and use the machine. It was probably the wisest move, but something stopped her.

“I won’t apologize for my actions, but… I appreciate you telling me the truth.”

Myka chuckled and Helena’s eyes found hers in surprise, “We’ll consider us even.” The mystified expression hurt her more than she’d like to admit, her Helena would have understood the joke.  

There was a long stuttering breath, “My Christina may be alive, but she is not free. She is provided books and other means of entertainment, but she has not left the Warehouse since we arrived in this time. I tried escaping with her once; the results were rather disastrous. She is allowed no company but myself and Paracelsus,” she spat the name, “She would not like what I’ve had to do, what I’ve become.” Helena shook her head, trembling fingers running through her hair as she leveled her dark probing gaze on Myka, “How can you expect me to make this choice? You know me; you clearly care for me…how…how can I possibly…”

Myka never told anyone but in grade school she used to have a dictionary on her bedside table. She’d read it every night before bed, just a page or two. By the time she was 13 she’d read the whole thing…and yet with all those words at her disposal not a single one could bring an ounce of peace, could be anything more than flimsy wrappings on an ugly reality. What she was asking Helena to do was awful, unthinkable. It made her stomach turn, but she had to ask nevertheless. No. There were no words. 

Myka pulled herself to her feet, moving without thought, just a simple need. The need to touch her, to take just a bit of the hurt away. She was rather surprised when she didn’t land on her back through a personal demonstration of Helena’s kenpo skills. But Helena did nothing; not as she placed her hands on each of her cheeks, wiping salt trails away with the pads of her thumbs; not as she pulled the woman into her arms, cradling her head in the dip where her shoulder and neck met. Helena was stiff, not fighting or returning the embrace.

They stayed like that for a few endless moments. At first Myka thought she must have misheard, Helena didn’t just- “Go now.” She pulled back, just shy of leaving Myka’s touch, “Before I remember I am not this noble.”

And it’s those words; it’s the fact that Helena is yet again sacrificing herself for the Warehouse… and now Christina too. Christina who will always be Helena’s world. It’s the way Helena’s fingers have somehow come to grip the front of Myka’s jacket and it’s the small, resigned and wistful smile on her face.  It’s everything.

And when she kisses her-something she had longed to do the last time they were forced into this ridiculous and cruel situation-she tries to will every ounce of her affection into it. Only then does Helena’s body relax against her. She tastes of tears, of grief…of yet another goodbye. 

Myka pulled away first, breaking the kiss before it broke her resolve. It was far too easy to get lost in Helena, in any incarnation. Helena did not watch her approach the altered time machine. She was holding herself as if she was about to disappear and, in a way, she was. She’d just finished setting up the machine when she heard a bitter laugh. She turned to find Helena looking up, “Do you smell that?” 

And just before the machine took her away, Myka did. “Apples.”


End file.
